The Founding of Asgard
Aum Linia stared at his brother, who was alive and well, and at Kudan.
“How in the world…?”
These men should have been dead—or if they were lucky enough to survive, crippled for life. Yet here they stood, without a single scratch.
In that moment, Aum Linia recalled the potions the undead had used to heal them back at the frozen lake.
Impossible…! A single bottle of potion had saved even Kudan, who had been on the brink of death, and regenerated his severed limbs!
This was no potion he had ever encountered before. It was something unheard of, unseen.
Yes, it was just like…
‘A miracle from the gods!!’
He had thought it was all a scam. At best, perhaps a lackey from another nation or a mage of exceptional skill. But this was on another level entirely.
A greatness that transcended the bounds of humanity already existed here.
An elixir of immortality straight out of legend or myth?!
“What is this…? Could it be the elixir of eternal life?”
“Nothing quite so grandiose.”
Aum turned toward the dignified voice and gazed at the demon seated upon the jade throne. Red eyes glowing fiercely from the sockets in the goat skull pierced straight through him.
Aum realized why he had been summoned here and bowed his head. There was no hesitation in the gesture now—only worship and adoration remained.
Potions of absolute efficacy. An undead legion that seemed like death incarnate.
No mere human could accomplish this. Nor was it the work of demihumans or other races.
It was like a true ‘god’. The majesty of a Constellation descended upon the earth!
“Aum Linia, I have come at the call of the great Constellation.”
Aum observed every formality he could muster. He now recognized the folly of challenging such an opponent.
If this being had willed it, there would have been no need for such troublesome games. A single command to the undead legion would have stripped all life from this frozen land.
Yet he had faced Aum directly, treating him as an equal. Perhaps because…
‘It was merely a game…’
He might simply have wanted amusement. Or perhaps he had given Aum Linia a chance.
A chance to stand against a great existence.
“Very well. I shall question you later about the Nod tribe. For now, what I wish to know concerns Kudan Raguna. Speak.”
Kudan bowed his head. He harbored no hatred for Loki anymore. He had heard how Loki had saved Kankun multiple times. And the strength he had witnessed made it clear what manner of being stood before him.
He could only bow in awe.
“What is it, my lord? This life has died once already. All that resides in my mind is yours to command.”
“Tell me of the woman you guarded. The chess game. And the woman who created that food.”
“Chess is a game that has been popular across the continent for three hundred years. As for the food, I know little… but I am aware it is connected to ‘that one’.”
Kudan had heard some details from Aum, so he understood Loki’s line of inquiry.
He hesitated for a moment. It was because of the promise he had made to ‘her’ upon their first meeting.
That ‘woman’ had told him never to speak of their encounter to anyone.
But… for some reason, the being before him was obsessed with her. And strangely, there was a similar aura about her and this existence.
The two were surely connected.
“It was a promise. She said never to tell.”
“……”
“But you saved my dying life, so I shall speak. That existence took the form of a goddess of unparalleled beauty.”
Loki’s eyes widened.
“She called herself the incarnation and queen of death.”
“……”
“She claimed she could even revive the dead.”
“……”
“People called her the ‘Angel of Death’, and now she is a target of the continent’s Holy Church.”
Kudan took a deep breath and continued.
“She named herself… ‘Helga’.”
Loki’s mind was a whirlwind of complexity. This was no coincidence.
About three hundred years ago—the very time Loki had arrived in this world—chess had become popular. Aum Linia had learned otherworldly cuisine from a woman who commanded even death.
That alone defied coincidence. And crucially, her name was ‘Helga’.
One of the characters Loki had created in his game. Another boss monster of Ragnarok.
And now, that being was hunted across the continent by the faith-based nation known as the Holy Church, marked as a target for the entire land.
“The one I knew wandered the continent, saving those afflicted by plague. I myself was saved by her when I nearly died from it. She performed such miraculous deeds that she even had followers who worshipped her. Her influence grew that vast—enough to threaten the Church.”
Kudan paused to catch his breath before continuing.
“But the Holy Church took a dim view of it and declared her a demon or witch. It has been fifty years since the end of the Demon King’s descent, and they have been pursuing her ever since.”
Loki knew what witch hunts were. From the early 15th century in the West, those who rejected monotheistic faith or worshipped other gods were branded heretics or witches and hunted. During the Black Death, superstitions led to the burning of anyone even suspected of witchcraft.
His junior colleague, Yun Sirin, had endured nearly three hundred years in such a brutal, alien world.
Sirin, where the hell have you been surviving all this time?
Loki pressed a hand to his forehead.
If Kudan spoke true, she was being hunted alone.
Loki asked Kudan how to find her.
“Finding her won’t solve the problem. The enemy is the Holy Church. They wield immense influence across the continent. Empires bow to their word. But if you still wish to seek her…”
Aum interjected.
“Build a force. Your Constellation grace possesses strength beyond any other being. Yet if you make enemies of countless nations, they will eventually drag you down. Establish a nation. Cultivate power. No matter their influence, a Church cannot openly antagonize a sovereign state.”
His junior, Yun Sirin, was in this world. And she was being hunted.
There was only one thing he could do: find her and protect her.
And as Aum said, build a force.
Loki looked ahead. The audience chamber was filled with those who had become his allies since his awakening.
Shaman, Hans, Aum, Per, Kudan, Kankun.
One a faithful priest of the gods, one a exiled noble, one a former ruler, one a warrior by a ruler’s side, another a transcendent warrior beyond human limits, and one a chosen shamaness.
They had all gathered at Loki’s call.
“I wish to borrow your strength.”
Loki sat straight upon the jade throne, facing them. The arrogant posture he had maintained until now was gone.
He looked each one in the eye, utterly serious, and declared,
“Pledge your loyalty to me. In return, I shall protect you by any means necessary.”
“……”
“Find her whereabouts. Even the smallest clue. Report every trace related to her.”
Loki thrust his hand into empty air. Space tore open, and a golden spear materialized in his grasp.
A myth-grade item. The spear said to have been wielded by the king of the gods, Odin.
Gungnir.
“Be it god or demon, I shall become whatever you name me. In exchange, find her and protect her. If any threaten her, spare no being. Regard them as my enemies and crush them to oblivion.”
Loki’s eyes blazed as he slammed Gungnir into the floor.
With a resounding boom, every undead in the hall flashed burning eyes and howled monstrously.
“I am Loki. With this Valhalla at its heart…”
All knelt.
“I shall found Asgard.”
The Britann Continent had endured several eras of war.
The first was the Age of Chaos.
-(Year of Creation 725)
The world’s Constellations ran mad, reveling in war through human proxies. Nations across the continent waged battle to prove the supremacy of their patron Constellations. Humanity tore itself apart in betrayal and savagery.
It was history’s most brutal period, an age of utter chaos and turmoil. Empires first arose in the nations then, and powerful figures began to dominate the continent.
It was during this time that the Azelan Church emerged, giving birth to the Holy Church.
Wherever one passed, corpses littered the ground. The dead outnumbered the living.
The second, the Age of the Red Orcs.
-(Year of Creation 825)
Red-skinned orcs began to gather in hordes numbering in the millions. Orc legions devoured the continent.
The land was swiftly stained in blood, and even mighty empires trembled. At the continent’s heart, the Holy Church rallied a coalition army and, after years of orc subjugation, finally quelled them.
Those slain by red orcs became their sustenance, their corpses nests for birthing more orcs.
This event bolstered the influence of monotheistic faith, propelling the Holy Church’s meteoric rise.
The third, the Demon King’s Descent.
-(Year of Creation 1775)
After centuries, a being threatening the continent emerged: the Demon King, self-proclaimed ruler of monsters. Centered in a small mountain range in the northeast of Britann, he raised an army and founded the nation of Hanes.
Composed of demihumans, his forces under Demon King Kalib shook the continent with overwhelming power. Their interference corrupted faith in the gods and spread plague, earning them infamy as the worst scourge in continental history.
The Holy Church, led by the young Holy Emperor Palis—barely twenty—mobilized armies and formed a coalition to subjugate Kalib. Ultimately, through the valor of the Twelve Heroes, they executed Demon King Kalib Hanes and toppled the demon nation of Hanes.
Even with limbs severed, he wept and cursed humanity. He blasphemed the gods and spat hatred for mankind to the last.
Thus, the Holy Church reaffirmed its role as the continent’s guardian of peace, while demihumans were branded heretics and shunned.
Fifty years passed…
And the [Age of Plague] arrived.
“P-Please, spare me! I-I’m not a demon!”
A man’s desperate cries echoed everywhere.
In a city square, people clustered together. Like a festive outing, smiles lit every face—old men, elderly women, youths, young maidens, even children of all ages.
They gazed upon the young man bound atop a log, their ‘entertaining spectacle’.
“That uncle… he says he’s not a demon, Daddy?”
A innocent child’s question drew a crescent-moon smile from her father.
“No, dear. He’s definitely a heretic.”
“What’s a heretic?”
“The devil’s spawn, betrayers of the Azelan Church.”
The child blinked and looked at the man tied to the log.
“No! I’m not a demon!”
The young man screamed until his throat bled. Poor and dwelling in the slums, he had clung steadfastly to his one faith. This was a trial from the gods, he believed—and overcoming it would bring happiness someday.
But…
That faith had betrayed him.